


It's Always Been You

by claimedbydaryl



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Confessions, Dorks in Love, Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon, and mickey is a flippin' IDIOT, emil is crushing HARD, hey look this is the most vanilla shit i've ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 01:41:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8778094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claimedbydaryl/pseuds/claimedbydaryl
Summary: A month after the Rostelecom Cup, Emil visits Michele, and confesses.





	

After the Rostelecom Cup, Michele didn’t expect to see Emil again. Sara was gone, taken by the hand of a gorgeous redhead and whisked off to Russia, leaving Michele to accept that his life didn’t need to be interwoven with his sister’s. But, if Sara wasn’t here—then why was Emil watching him from the sidelines as if nothing had transpired?

“She’s not here,” Michele said, gliding to a smooth stop at the rink’s edge. He accepted Emil’s outstretched offer of his water bottle, raising it to his lips.

From underneath the scruff of his fringe, Emil looked confused. “Who?”

“Sara.”

“I know,” Emil said, his offhand manner of casualness setting Michele on edge. “She told me she’s training in Russia with Mila.”

“A change of scenery, that’s what she said she wanted,” Michele was speaking through gritted teeth, feeling his jaw lock with restrained anger.

For the first time in Michele’s life, he detested how the solid expanse of ice beneath his skates connected him to his sister, how it had always been the most important part of their lives. Because now this was his future—standing forlorn in an empty Italian ice rink, hopelessly managing to maintain contact between the awkward difference in time zones.

Michele clenched his hands, focusing on the taut pull of muscle rather than the numb tingle of cold in his fingertips. He shouldn’t feel like this, not after completing a routine—although a dismal routine, it was still strenuous enough to merit an elevated pulse, his skin flushed with heat.

Lifting an arm to wipe the beaded moisture of sweat from his forehead, Michele caught Emil staring at him, his mouth parted. Michele lowered his arm, and Emil’s chin dropped with the motion, his hair falling forward to brush the faint blush of red against his cheeks.

Running a hand over the damp skin of the back of his neck, Michele frowned. He chose to forgo his tumultuous emotions to instead focus on his thoughts—and his thoughts were centred on Emil. Taking a moment longer to deliberate the reason for Emil being here, Michele pulled the hem of his shirt up to fan air against his sweat-slick stomach, feeling hot.

“Why are you here?” He asked.

“What?” Emil seemed dazed, licking his lips to fend off the chill. Michele wondered if he needed balm, but he was too suspicious of Emil’s attentions to offer his own.

“Sara’s in Russia, so why else would you be here?”

“I… I didn’t come here for her.”

Michele scoffed. “You’re here at least once a fortnight during pre-season, and I always seemed to spend my days off with you and Sara. Not to mention I barely had enough room to breathe with you sticking so close to Sara during the Rostelecom Cup.”

“I wasn’t sticking close to her.” Despite his initial fluster, Emil seemed to had found stable purchase in the conversation. “I was sticking close to you, Mickey.”

Michele drew back, perplexed. “I’m not stupid. You were always with Sara.”

“Because she was with you.” If Michele wasn’t fixated on Emil—unable to look aside—he would’ve missed how Emil’s flush deepened, his smile fleeting and embarrassed. “I think she knew how I felt, much earlier than you did anyway.”

“How you felt about me?”

“Do you really not know?” The shine of Emil’s eyes seemed to dull at the question, but his expression remained warm and friendly under the unbroken line of Michele’s gaze.

“Know what?”

“I never liked Sara, not like you thought I did,” Emil confessed—and it _felt_ like a confession, like unearthing once-hidden knowledge, casting it into open view. “You never seemed to understand which Crispino twin I was interested in, because… It’s you. It’s only ever been you, Mickey.”

Michele knew it was wrong to frown, to stare without revealing a more telling response, but he needed a moment to process. For his mind to recall the multitude of signs which supported the claim that… that Emil liked him. In a romantic sense.

It clicked into place with a frightening ease, everything Michele had misunderstood, every minute detail that made him believe Emil had liked Sara when he had been her constant other half. It made sense—the memories of Emil pushing into his hotel room to coerce him into watching 80s movies late into the night together, the takeaway coffees he pushed into Michele’s hands the mornings after, hearing both his and Sara’s cheers from the sidelines.

“You…”

“Yeah.”

“And I…” Michele closed his mouth, unable to wipe the blankness from his expression.

He just couldn’t seem to understand that he’d so grievously misinterpreted Emil’s intentions, and now he couldn’t forget every brush of their fingertips, every moment Emil had leaned against him in companionship. When Emil had been quiet with fatigue, or warm with affection, trusting Michele to offer his shoulder or guide him to his room.

Michele’s mind reeled, because—had he wanted that to happen? Had he enjoyed being in Emil’s presence even when he thought he was there to steal Sara from him?

“Why are you here?” Michele heard himself ask, his mouth moving unbidden.

“I came here to make sure you’re okay,” Emil admitted, glancing aside in a nervous fashion. Michele had mistaken his gentle shyness for a weak naiveté in the past, but now he knew it was in his nature to be kind and unassuming and… he almost found it cute.

“You didn’t need to…”

Without his attention centred on Sara, Michele was somewhat attentive to the interests of others for the first time, although his feelings hadn’t been mutual. So, he didn’t know what it signified for his heart to be beating this fast, for all competent thought to flee him.

“I wanted to, so it’s fine,” Emil said, as if his selfless need to ensure Michele was coping after his sister’s departure was inconsequential.

Michele had to wonder then if Emil’s altruistic tendencies were commonplace, or if it was synonymous with him caring for someone, namely Michele. Gratitude washed through him, causing Michele to swallow at the overwhelming sense of gladness that Emil had ever thought he was worth something apart from Sara, both before and after they had been together.

“Do you mind if I watch you skate?” Emil asked, pulling Michele headfirst from his reverie.

Unable to form his agreement within a reasonable time, Emil grew panicked at Michele’s lacking response. He stepped back under the pretence of granting Michele space, his forced jovialness a poor disguise of his underlying anxiety.

“I mean—I was going to go home tomorrow, but I can go tonight, if you want,” he rambled. “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable or anything like that, I just—”

“You can watch me skate,” Michele blurted about thirty seconds too late.

Michele felt calm at how the braced set of Emil’s shoulders relaxed with immediate relief. “Oh, okay. Good.”

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Michele asked, “You said you were going to leave tomorrow too, didn’t you?” Now he was aware of Emil—of his less-than-platonic feelings, of the windswept brush of his hair, of how he was so maddeningly taller than him—he experienced an inexplicable incapability to speak with the confidence he once possessed.

“Yeah, that’s what I planned to do.”

 “So… After practise, did you want to…” Ignoring the apprehensive knot of his stomach, Michele steeled himself, meeting Emil’s hesitant gaze with a determined resolve. “Did you want to have dinner with me?”

Michele knew it was stupid to feel nervous, because he’d done this a million times before with Emil, this time was no different—or, well, maybe it was a little different. The situation would remain the same, but the intent and meaning behind it would not. Because it would be like…

“A date?” Emil spoke with a deliberate slowness, his voice disbelieving but high-pitched with an unrestrained giddiness. “Are you asking me out on a date, Mickey?”

“Yeah, I think I am.” Emil’s own childish happiness was mirrored in the foreign strain of muscle at the corners of Michele’s mouth, and after a moment he realised he was smiling too, just as bright as Emil was.

 **Three Months Later**  

“Mickey!” Emil called from the side of the rink, waving.

Michele faltered at the sound of Emil’s voice ringing throughout the high, cavernous ceiling, his skates skidding sidewards at his lapse in concentration. Despite failing to even reach a midpoint in his training regime, he circled into a slow stop, casting a withering glance in Emil’s direction.

“Why do you always interrupt me in the middle of a routine?”

“I was excited, I haven’t seen you in—”

“Four days, Emil.” If Michele wasn’t endeared by the sight of Emil’s wide, unabashed grin, he would’ve been able to feign believable indifference to Emil’s unplanned arrival. “It’s only been four days.”

“Four days too long!”

Unable to stifle the light-hearted laughter tumbling from his mouth, Michele allowed himself to smile, hands resting on his hips. Elated, Emil leaned over the rink’s barrier, as close to Michele as he could be without resorting to clambering over the divider.

“Come here, I’m cold,” Emil said, pouting as if it would tempt Michele to approach him.

“You’re wearing a thermal sweater.” His words were delivered with an unconcerned calm, although he pushed forward to skate towards Emil.

It was clear that Emil was steadily becoming his weakest point, not like Sara had been a disadvantage to his career and personal life, but to his ability to disregard their relationship as anything less than important. Being with Emil was akin to a constant sense of falling—like the more time he spent with Emil, the less guarded he would feel.

After a lifetime devoted to protecting his sister, Michele was new to the entire concept of dating. He was scared, of course, but he was also excited. Almost enamoured with the idea that he could share his love for skating with someone else, that he could be cherished in return, that he benefited from their burgeoning trust and dependency on each other both on and off the ice.

“You’re doing that more often,” Emil said, leaning even further forward, arms crossed over his chest.

“Doing what?” Michele felt his blades slice the pale surface of the ice beneath him, bringing him ever closer to Emil. He didn’t attempt to mask how eager he was to close the distance between them, but it was a delight to watch Emil grow desperate, impatient.

“You smile a lot more now.”

“Oh, do I?” He shouldn’t be teasing, not when Emil was right there—not when his fingers ached to reach out, not when he wetted his lips in anticipation.

“You look handsome when you smile,” Emil blurted, then blinked in rapid succession at the realisation of what he’d done. He blushed, embarrassed despite the fact he was allowed to say things like that now. “Well, I mean—You look more handsome than usual.”

Michele felt the muscles of his face tighten, lips pulled into a wide, effortless smile—because Emil would still do this, would gush and splutter over _him_.

Gliding to the thin barrier separating him and Emil, the tips of Michele’s skates collided against the metal, forced to a jolting halt. He was still smiling when Emil’s hands stretched outwards to clutch the fabric of Michele’s shirt, jerking him closer with a sudden fierceness. And he continued to smile when Emil kissed him, arms sliding around Michele’s shoulders, breaking apart to laugh when Michele’s hands brushed his ticklish sides to encircle his waist.

“Stop it!” Emil protested, writhing in Michele’s embrace. “You know I’m ticklish!”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“You so did, don’t lie to me—” Emil’s words were driven to a jarring halt as Michele surged forward to kiss the offered length of his bare neck, right below his ear. “Oh, um,” Emil mumbled, fingers tightening in their hold on Michele’s shirt.

“Do you know why I’m smiling more?” Michele asked, shifting to kiss Emil on the lips once more before pulling back to revel in his boyfriend’s stunned expression.

“Maybe because Sara said she’d come visit next month, or that now Yuuri Katsuki’s retired you have a better chance in the Grand Prix, or—”

“Do you really not know?”

Emil stared at Michele in open bewilderment, oblivious even with Michele pressed to him, the memory of his lips still imprinted on his skin.

“It’s you.”

**Author's Note:**

> //mostly this is an exercise in getting to write these characters and this ship, so all comments + kudos are appreciated!
> 
> i guarantee i'll write smut if u can give me good ideas on [tumblr](http://diggitydamnsebastianstan.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
